


War Stories 'plus-one'

by EmpressofMankind



Series: The Lion in Winter [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Drunk Robert, Drunkenness, Episode Remix, Explicit Language, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Jaime Lannister Has Issues, Kevan the Younger is a mamas boy, Kevan the Younger is his father's son, Lion-baiting, Original Character(s), Robert NO, Team Dad Barristan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23631499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmpressofMankind/pseuds/EmpressofMankind
Summary: A short sequence rewrite of the 'War Stories' scene of Game of Thrones 1x03 with the addition of one little extra: Kevan Lannister Jr., son of Lord Tywin & Lady Loren Lannister. King Robert and Ser Barristan talk about war while Ser Jaime minds the door and the two Lannister boys, Kevan and Lancel, attend the King. Nobody wants to be here.
Relationships: Tywin Lannister/Loren Lannister
Series: The Lion in Winter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1517678
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33
Collections: A Saga of Bears & Lions





	War Stories 'plus-one'

**Author's Note:**

> In lieu of waiting until I could add it to 'The Lion in Winter', whenever we get around to this point in time, I decided to post it early because it is self-contained, well-known, and doesn't contain any spoilers for the longfic. It was mostly done as a creative writing excersize (to practice Robert & Barristan, who will soon show up in the longfic at the time of writing) and because I love this scene. Robert, why do you have to be like this? Gods.

“Yes, it’s been a long time,” Jaime heard King Robert say. He stood in front of the door to the King’s solar, like a glorified household guard. Jaime glanced through the crack between the sturdy wooden door and the thick castle wall without shifting his posture. Sun fell into the room beyond, and the sheer curtains swayed on a light breeze, bringing a moment of relief to the otherwise stifling late summer day. Jaime was just able to see his little brother, Kevan, standing prim beside the King’s desk in his black leather cotehardie and matching riding boots, his hands folded behind his back. Jaime smiled. It was easy to see whose demeanour the boy attempted to mimic.

Jaime hadn’t closed the door when Robert had entered and demanded his brother, _his_ squire, page on the King, precisely to be able to keep an eye on them. Lady Loren would undoubtedly remove the offending eye if he didn’t, and he wasn’t at all sure their Lord Father would object. Thinking of Lord Tywin, Jaime fondly imagined his reaction at hearing the fat stag had commandeered his little prince into a position now beneath him.

Robert shook his head, his jowls quivering beneath his bushy beard. He stared into his wine glass as if the answer was written on its crystalline bottom. He looked up, presumably at Ser Barristan, who he had called inside as well. “But I still remember every face.”

Armour creaked. Ser Barristan, shifting his posture. 

“You remember your first?” Robert added after a moment’s pause.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Ser Barristan’s tone was reluctant. Jaime couldn’t see the old knight but knew the expression to match that tone: lips pursed, a slight frown creasing his lined brow.

“Who was it?” Robert demanded.

“A Tyroshi. Never learnt the name.”

“Hm. How did you do it?”

Armour creaked. “Lance through the heart.”

“Quick one.” Robert breathed out audibly. “Lucky for you.” It was silent for a moment, but then the King continued: “Mine was some Tarly boy at the battle of Summerhall.”

Jaime glanced inside again. Kevan still stood beside the King, though he hadn’t been able to resist leaning in, all ears. He loved hearing war stories.

“My horse took an arrow, so I was on foot, slogging through the mud.” Robert’s gaze was distant as he spoke, reliving the memory. “He came running at me, this dumb highborn lad, thinking he could end the rebellion with a single swing of his sword.”

Robert leaned towards Kevan then, having noticed his rapt audience. “I knocked him down with the hammer,” he said, swiping one hand as if he held it still, shaking it as he caught the boy’s gaze. “Gods, I was strong then, lad.”

“How did you kill him?” Kevan piped up without so much as a by-your-leave.

Robert grinned, bumping his fist against Kevan’s child-sized gorget. “Caved in his breastplate.” 

Kevan’s eyes widened. 

Robert’s gaze dropped, his amusement gone. “Probably shattered every rib he had.”

Jaime frowned, returning his gaze to the empty hall. His own first kill had been a rowdy youngling of the Kingswood Brotherhood when he had been scarce a man. Seven willing, Kevan would be older than that. The helmet had come off with the killing blow, the head rolling between his feet. Her eyes haunted him. Her grey, glassy eyes. She’d been his age, scarce a woman. He frowned and shook his head to banish the poor memory.

“I stood over him, hammer in the air.” Robert paused. “Right before I brought it down, he shouted:”

“Wait!”

_“WAIT!”_

Robert chuckled, but it was bereft of any mirth.

“They never tell you how they all shit themselves. They don’t put that part in the songs.”

Armour creaked. 

“Stupid boy…” Robert let out a heavy sigh of the thoroughly drunk. “Now, the Tarlys bend the knee, like everyone else.”

There was a long pause, interrupted by throaty gulps.

“He could have lingered on the edge of the battle with the smart boys, or dally, like your father did.” 

Jaime stiffened, his hackles rising despite himself. 

“Today, he too might be making his sweet wife miserable.” A drunken, wistful sigh escaped Robert that primed Jaime’s hackles higher yet. “His sons ingrates and him waking three times in the night to piss into a bowl.” Robert spat the last words, then roared: 

“WINE!”

Light, uncertain footsteps. Lancel. It was followed by liquid clattering into a glass.

“Lancel…” Robert said. “Gods, what a stupid name.”

Jaime scowled at the hall.

“Lancel Lannister,” Robert derided, stifling a drunk chortle. “Who named you? Some half-wit with a stutter?”

“Ser Kevan,” Kevan said quietly.

“What, boy?” Robert slurred.

“Ser Kevan Lannister named my cousin. And he named him for King Lancel Lannister who slew Harrald the Halfdrowned and his heir with a single stroke.” 

Jaime shook his head with wry amusement. Some times, his little brother opened his mouth, and their Lord Father’s voice came out. He glanced inside once more. As he had suspected, Kevan had straightened, his chin lifted as he held the drunk King’s gaze with an all too familiar glare.

“Ser Kevan? You’re his namesake, aren’t you lad?”

“Correct. Ser Kevan is my uncle and Lord Tywin’s most trusted advisor.” 

“I thought your mother was that, eh?” Robert waggled his eyebrows. Kevan frowned, too young still to understand the slight but knowing all the same that was what it was. _I’ll be sure to let her know how you speak of her behind her back, you drunken half-wit_ , Jaime thought.

Robert grabbed his glass. It was not even half full. He turned to Lancel, who shrank from the King’s scrutiny. “What are you doing?”

Lancel stared at the pitcher. He clenched his hands around it to stop them from trembling. “It’s empty, Your Grace.”

“What do you mean ‘it’s empty’?”

“There’s no more wine, Your Grace.”

“Is that what empty means?” Robert roared. Lancel flinched. And Kevan pulled his head back, his small hand dropping to the pommel of his child-sized arming sword. When the King continued, his tone was quiet, deadly, but louder with every word: “So. Get. _More_.”

Lancel all but fled the solar.

“Why aren’t you, my squire? Or my son…” Robert looked at Kevan, then leaned back heavily in his seat. It groaned as he settled. A chortle escaped him. “I should fuck your pretty mother and get me a boy like you. Your father can’t complain, the crown prince would still be half a Lannister like he so desperately craves.”

Kevan bristled but kept his peace. A feat in restraint, Jaime was fairly sure, few adults would have managed in his stead.

“Is she miserable, is she?” Robert asked the boy though it was clear he neither wanted nor expected an answer. He shook his head and drained the last of the wine. “She must be, though I haven’t seen the blue.”

Jaime clenched his teeth. For all his flaws, Lord Tywin had never struck them. Robert had hit Cersei scant three days into their marriage. She had refused to tell him, but Jaime was a warrior, he knew knuckles when he saw them. He would not believe his father did the same. Loren would never stay if he did for she had not stayed with that sea rat, Maron Greyjoy, either.

“Father does not beat Mother,” Kevan said, angry now.

“I am certain you would know,” Robert said with a snort.

Kevan bristled and his gaze crossed Jaime’s over the King’s shoulder. Jaime gave him a warning look. ‘ _No_ ,’ he mouthed. He feared Kevan had already been pushing it with his candour and, any moment now, the King’s temper might sour. Cersei had told him once that she’d had to stop Robert from hitting Joffrey. His hand dropped to his longsword.

As Lancel slipped out, Robert glanced up, and Jaime quickly straightened, his gaze back on the hall. “Tell your cousin to get in here.”

Jaime clenched his jaw. If he asked him to fetch Lo—.

“Kingslayer!” Robert roared. “Get in here!”

Jaime took a deep breath and entered, though his hand lingered on his sword pommel.

“Surrounded by Lannisters,” Robert said as Jaime came to stand beside Ser Barristan in front of the King’s desk. “Tall,” he added with a nod to Jaime before leaning towards Kevan. “And small.”

 _Bunghole. You demanded he accompanies you._ Jaime kept his expression neutral. 

“Every time I close my eyes, I see their blond hair and their smug, satisfied faces.” Robert snorted. “Only one of them I care to look satisfied when I shut my eyes to wank and it sure as wildfire isn’t my delightful Queen.”

Jaime cocked his head sideways, forcing himself to resist the drunken goading. Ser Barristan shifted beside him, his armour creaking as he changed his stance. At least the old knight had the grace to be uncomfortable, too.

“Must wound your pride,” Robert derided. “Standing out there, like a glorified sentry.”

Jaime glanced at Kevan, who yet stood beside the King, his small hand still on his little arming sword. A gift from Lord Eddard. Jaime looked back at the King and vividly imagined telling the northern Lord his childhood friend had been skewered with his thoughtful gift.

Robert took Jaime’s smile entirely the wrong way. 

“Jaime Lannister,” Robert said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Son of the mighty Tywin. Forced to mind the door while your King eats and drinks and shits and fucks.”

Jaime refused to bite, curving his lips into an even more noticeable smile instead of the sneer the drunk craved.

“So, come on. We’re telling _war_ stories.” Robert shifted his bulk, leaning back in his seat. “Who was your first kill?” He inclined his head, one eyebrow rising just enough. “Not counting old men.”

Jaime frowned, unwilling to tell the tale.

Robert gave him an expectant look. 

Jaime clenched his jaw and marshalled his will. He had no wish to know Robert’s drunken opinion on women wielding swords, or a girl his own age having been the first corpse he’d made. “One of the outlaws in the Brotherhood.”

Beside him, armour creaked. Jaime glanced at Ser Barristan. There was sadness in the old knight’s gaze. “I was there that day,” Ser Barristan said, drawing the King’s attention. “You were only a squire. Sixteen years old.”

Ser Barristan had been there, indeed. He’d been the one to reassure him, not his father. Jaime smiled, grateful for the respite he provided once again. “You killed Simon Toyne with a counter-riposte. Best move I ever saw.”

Ser Barristan looked fondly at him, then at his little brother. “Good fighter, Toyne,” he told Kevan. “But he lacked stamina.”

Jaime wondered if there was a lesson there Kevan had been skipping, for the boy glanced at his feet as surely as if his mother had caught him skimming bread crusts.

“Your outlaw,” Robert interjected, making the boy beside him flinch. “Any last words?”

Jaime’s jaw worked. He raised his chin a fraction. “I cut their head off, so no.”

Ser Barristan smiled, though there was no mirth to it. Their gazes met, after, and he inclined his head a fraction. 

“What about Aerys Targaryen?” Robert interjected a second time. “What did the Mad King say when you stabbed him in the back?”

Jaime’s smile was snuffed instantly. Kevan shifted uncomfortably beside the King. He knew _that_ story.

“I never asked,” Robert added, satisfied. 

Jaime’s gaze glazed to the middle distance, to the memory that he wished was a bad dream.

“Did he call you a traitor? Did he plead for a reprieve?” Robert pressed.

“He said the same thing he’d been saying for hours,” Kevan piped up, diverting the King’s attention. He looked at Jaime, his little face determined. From somewhere far away, Jaime tried to articulate a response. Meant to tell Kevan it was fine, he didn’t have to. He could handle it. Nothing came out.

Robert turned to the boy, leaning on his elbow. He inclined his head, amused expectation on his flushed face. “Well lad, what had he been saying all day?”

Kevan clasped his small hands behind him, pulled his head back and pursed his lips. He met the King’s gaze head-on. “Burn them all.”

Robert’s mouth opened as if he meant to say something, but to Jaime’s satisfaction, words failed him too. It made him look like a fish. A fat, gaping fish.

“If that’s all, Your Grace.” Jaime inclined his head, forcing his limbs to move. He nodded at Ser Barristan, who returned the gesture as Jaime beckoned Kevan. Suddenly ten again, the boy made a swift, precise bow and then scurried around the desk to join him.


End file.
